Latest news with #TheBookofGuilt
The Spinoff
19 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
The Unity Books bestseller chart for the week ending June 20
The only published and available best-selling indie book chart in New Zealand is the top 10 sales list recorded every week at Unity Books' stores in High St, Auckland, and Willis St, Wellington. AUCKLAND 1 A Different Kind of Power by Jacinda Ardern (Penguin Random House, $60) Spot New Zealand's former prime minster on this week's New York Times bestseller list. 2 The Book of Guilt by Catherine Chidgey (Te Herenga Waka University Press, $38) The un-put-downable alternate history that explores some of life's biggest questions, including what does it mean to have a soul? Can a human ever not have one? 3 Eurotrash by Christian Kracht (Serpents Tail, $30) Auckland really loves this hectic mother-son roadtrip novel. 4 James by Percival Everett (Picador, $38) Everett's biggest book yet is his stunning, funny and profound retelling of Huckleberry Finn. 5 Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-Reum (Bloomsbury, $25) Cosy and charming and perfect for a long Matariki weekend. 6 The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden (Penguin, $26) This year's winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction. One of the most exquisite novels you'll read this year: it is moving, sexy and surprising. 7 Butter by Asako Yuzuki (4th Estate, $35) The smash hit novel based on a true crime story of a serial killer who lured her victims in with stunning food. 8 A Dim Prognosis by Ivor Popovich (Allen & Unwin, $38) An utterly gripping, energetic memoir from Dr Popovich. Revealing! See The Spinoff this weekend to read an excerpt from this brilliant book. 9 Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong (Penguin Random House, $38) Vuong's second novel. 10 King of Ashes by S. A. Cosby (Hachette, $38) A fiery crime novel. Here's the blurb: 'Roman Carruthers left the smoke and fire of his family's crematory business behind in his hometown of Jefferson Run, Virginia. He is enjoying a life of shallow excess as a financial adviser in Atlanta until he gets a call from his sister, Neveah, telling him their father is in a coma after a hit-and-run accident. When Roman goes home, he learns the accident may not be what it seems. His brother, Dante, is deeply in debt to dangerous, ruthless criminals. And Roman is willing to do anything to protect his family. Anything. A financial whiz with a head for numbers and a talent for making his clients rich, Roman must use all his skills to try to save his family while dealing with a shadow that has haunted them all for twenty years: the disappearance of their mother when Roman and his siblings were teenagers. It's a mystery that Neveah, who has sacrificed so much of her life to hold her family together, is determined to solve once and for all. As fate and chance and heartache ignite their lives, the Carruthers family must pull together to survive or see their lives turn to ash. Because, as their father counselled them from birth, nothing lasts forever. Everything burns.' WELLINGTON 1 A Different Kind of Power by Jacinda Ardern (Penguin Random House, $60) 2 Towards Modernism: Walter Cook Collection at Te Papa by Justine Olsen (Te Papa Press, $75) This handsome new publication celebrates the Walter Cook Collection of Decorative Arts (held at Te Papa) and the ceramic, glass and metal objects therein. 3 The Book of Guilt by Catherine Chidgey (Te Herenga Waka University Press, $38) 4 It's A Bit More Complicated Than That by Hannah Marshall (Allen and Unwin NZ, $25) A brilliant new YA novel from a huge new talent. Here's the blurb: 'Zelle and Callum used to be best friends, but they haven't spoken in three years: not since the tragedy that wrenched them apart, and Zelle moved away. But now Zelle is back, and their lives are about to get a whole lot more complicated. Zelle is in denial about her alcohol use that threatens to spiral out of control, and she's deeply annoyed at having to leave the city. Callum's future is thrown into jeopardy after both a disastrous uni interview and his budding romance turning sour. But they can't keep running from the past forever, and circumstances force them to examine their grief and guilt and find a way through.' 5 A Beautiful Family by Jennifer Trevelyan (Allen and Unwin NZ, $37) 'Trevelyan's narrator is 10 years old. She's unnamed until the very end of the book (I won't reveal it here: best to find out for yourself). It's this naive perspective that makes A Beautiful Family both easy to read and impossible to put down. The narrator's innocence is pitted against several disturbing factors, all orbiting her summer in various shapes and shades, and it's that persistent dance of disturbances that creates the sustained and unrelenting tension in the novel.' Read more of Claire Mabey's review on The Spinoff, right here. 6 The Safekeep by Yael van der Wouden (Penguin, $26) 7 Delirious by Damien Wilkins (Te Herenga Waka University Press, $38) 'I don't want to say that Delirious is the pinnacle of what Damien can do because that would be like putting a curse on his future work. But I am going to say it's almost impossible for me to imagine how he could do better. I think this is a great book – Great with capital G.' Even before Delirious won this year's Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction, Elizabeth Knox was rapturous about Wilkins' beautiful novel. 8 Heart Lamp by Banu Mushtaq (Scribe, $37) Shortlisted for the 2025 International Booker Prize. 'In the twelve stories of Heart Lamp, Banu Mushtaq exquisitely captures the everyday lives of women and girls in Muslim communities in southern India. Published originally in the Kannada language between 1990 and 2023, praised for their dry and gentle humour, these portraits of family and community tensions testify to Mushtaq's years as a journalist and lawyer, in which she tirelessly championed women's rights and protested all forms of caste and religious oppression. Written in a style at once witty, vivid, colloquial, moving and excoriating, it's in her characters – the sparky children, the audacious grandmothers, the buffoonish maulvis and thug brothers, the oft-hapless husbands, and the mothers above all, surviving their feelings at great cost – that Mushtaq emerges as an astonishing writer and observer of human nature, building disconcerting emotional heights out of a rich spoken style. Her opus has garnered both censure from conservative quarters as well as India's most prestigious literary awards; this is a collection sure to be read for years to come.' 9 James by Percival Everett (Picador, $38) 10 The Māori Millionaire by Te Kahukura Boynton (Penguin, $35) 'Te Kahukura Boynton is Māori Millionaire, and her debut book is here to help. Learn how to make money by clearing debt, saving for an emergency, finding work and increasing your salary, and even starting your own business and investing in shares and yourself. With tips on building better habits with your money and your life, Māori Millionaire is the positive mindset change you might be missing.' So goes the blurb.
Irish Examiner
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Book review: How perspectives can vary
In previous works, New Zealand author Catherine Chigley has used a magpie for a narrator, and pondered Nazism from the point of view of a child. She is a skilled and inventive storyteller, and The Book of Guilt is another imaginative tour de force. 13-year-old identical triplets Vincent, William, and Lawrence are the sole remaining occupants of a remote Hampshire children's home. It's 1979, but an alternate one, changed significantly by the fact that Adolf Hitler was successfully assassinated in 1943. Thereafter, under the 'Gothenburg Treaty', governments cooperated to fast track medical and scientific progress, leading to remarkable breakthroughs. But they have done so by dubious means, even using research carried out in death camps by the Nazis. None of this is very clear to Vincent, William, and Lawrence, who live in isolation from the wider world and run wild in the gardens of their enclosure. With touching sincerity, the boys quote snippets from an encyclopaedia, the Book of Knowledge, which has been their only source of education. 'James Joyce,' Vincent declares boldly at one point, 'author remarkable for a style verging sometimes on incoherence'. Their only human connection is with three carers, Mother Morning, Mother Afternoon, and Mother Night, who feed and tend to the boys, record their dreams and administer daily medications. They are part of a government programme called the 'Sycamore Scheme', which appears to be winding down, and the boys' cherished dream is that they will be sent to Margate, the site, they are told, of an idyllic children's home. In this alternate 1970s, regrettable artefacts have survived, including Jeffrey Archer, Richard Clayderman, and Margaret Thatcher who, though never actually named, appears to have fulfilled her destiny and become prime minister. The only female member of her cabinet is the Minister of Loneliness, a harried, well-meaning woman who is sent to oversee an adoption programme for the Sycamore kids. The boys, meanwhile, wonder why they are shunned and pointed at by locals when they run errands in the nearby village, and why the pills they pop daily make them feel not better, but worse. And why did all the Sycamore kids' parents die so dramatically in house fires, car crashes, and shipwrecks? A trio of girls sent on a socialising date offer clues, but Vincent, meanwhile, is growing more and more worried about William's cruel streak. The Book of Guilt is narrated in turns by Vincent, the Minister of Loneliness, and a 13-year-old girl called Nancy, whose connection to the boys will slowly become apparent. Some early reviews have noted plotting similarities with Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go, but while these are sometimes striking, Ms Chigley's narrative originality is never in doubt. She does a fine job of catching the imagined voice of an early teenage boy with a necessarily limited world view, and her imagery throughout is excellent. 'Diane wore spectacles that made her eyes too big,' Vincent remarks, 'like you couldn't get away from her.' With much to unfold, and many plot twists to hide, Catherine Chigley teases out her story with great skill, and there are some wonderfully chilling set piece moments, like a trip to Strangeways prison, and a beautifully orchestrated scene where the triplets are visiting potential adoptive parents and fall out spectacularly while playing. It's an entertaining and very nicely written book, but as ever with Ms Chigley there are serious issues rumbling beneath, for instance the ethics of scientific research, universal civil rights, and the arbitrary assumptions about who might and might not possess a soul.
The Spinoff
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
A Beautiful Family: a haunting summer holiday novel, reviewed
Claire Mabey reviews the novel about a New Zealand summer that caught the attention of one of the world's most famous agents and is being released in multiple countries, with a film adaptation attached already. Jennifer Trevelyan's pathway from unknown author to international name is a particularly compelling one. Media attention has been hot and close this past week as A Beautiful Family is released in Aotearoa, Australia, the US and UK. On RNZ's Nine to Noon, Trevelyan told Kathryn Ryan how she'd been writing away for a decade before she finally felt she had a manuscript worthy of sending out to an agent. Felicity Blunt – renowned literary agent – responded (for the uninitiated, this is notable in itself: it is extremely hard to get an agent, especially such a huge one) and the fairytale trajectory from hopeful scribbler to signed-up writer was set into motion. Blunt sold the book into multiple territories, secured Trevelyan a two-book deal, and sold the rights to the film, which already has Niki Caro down to direct. Trevelyan told Ryan that her one wish is that it is filmed in New Zealand. Without knowing anything about the novel, this is an extraordinary story. It is notoriously hard for New Zealand writers to crack the international market: not many manage to do it and certainly not via the pull power of Felicity Blunt, who represents Meg Mason, Jilly Cooper, Claire Keegan and Bonnie Garmus among others. It's the kind of dream-come-true that gives hopefuls just enough to plough on with. Though the chances of such a sequence of events happening again is so slim it's hard to imagine it repeating anytime soon. I received a limited edition advance proof of A Beautiful Family a few months ago with the number 137/150 handwritten on the promotional cover, which read 'if you only read one book in 2025 make it this one'. I have to admit that at this point in the game I'm skeptical of such commands. I get a lot of advance copies with grand promises and I don't read them all: that would be more than a full time job. I put the book in my pile and frankly forgot about it until a week ago when I was looking through my to-be-read piles trying to find something that I'd be able to read quickly, and that might hold my attention over a gloomy, frigid day in which I was stuck inside with a head cold. Enter, the child. Trevelyan's narrator is 10 years old. She's unnamed until the very end of the book (I won't reveal it here: best to find out for yourself). It's this naive perspective that makes A Beautiful Family both easy to read and impossible to put down. The narrator's innocence is pitted against several disturbing factors, all orbiting her summer in various shapes and shades, and it's that persistent dance of disturbances that creates the sustained and unrelenting tension in the novel. Child narrators aren't uncommon in adult literature but the decision to use them is fascinating to me. Catherine Chidgey's The Book of Guilt uses the perspective of three siblings to tell that sinister story; John Boyne's The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is a famously affecting use of the child's perspective to tell a holocaust story – the adult reader immediately understanding what the child characters do not. This distance between the child narrator and the adult reader is where sickening suspense lies: as adults we know more than they do and all we have left is to hope that, in this story, we're wrong. A Beautiful Family is set on the Kāpiti Coast in the 1980s. We know this because Trevelyan is meticulous with her references to the time period: the child's prized possession is a Walkman through which she plays Split Enz; The Exorcist has aired on TV; there are Seventeen magazines with sealed sections; the child and her sister Vanessa get terrifically sunburned and only after getting blisters does their mother buy some SPF15. There is also casual racism at play in varying degrees of intensity. A Chinese family is talked about in grotesque terms; a Māori character is described as having 'skin the colour of burnt caramel'. It makes you grind your molars until you remember that this is the 80s and such clangers were horrifyingly commonplace. The question that came to haunt me as I read A Beautiful Family was from what distance is this child narrator telling her story? The voice is in first person, past tense, which indicates that there is space between the events and the telling of them. But it's never made clear how much space: only a couple of moments where the narrator says directly that she doesn't remember a certain detail. For some reason this struck me and niggled at me. I suspect that not many other readers will be at all concerned with this but I wished for those intimations of distance to be either removed or embellished because, for this reader at least, it made me question memory, naivety and the precise impact of the story on its teller. Trevelyan has revealed herself to be a perfectionist and a very careful writer so I doubt that this ambiguity is erroneous, but rather a deliberate nod towards the way core childhood memories stay, and replay. Because this is a summer that lingers: it's the kind of childhood scenario that would lodge itself in the brain and return to the mind's eye with changing lenses as you aged. It is immediately clear that the child's parents are unhappy and that Vanessa (the sister) has struck a particularly unpleasant and caustic stage of her teenage years. The child is left largely to her own devices until she meets Kahu, a young boy, and he tells her about Charlotte who disappeared from the beach one summer when she was nine years old. The book is haunted by Charlotte in several ways. As an unsolved mystery it gives the two lonely children something to investigate; and it adds an extra element of suspicion to the dead-eyed neighbour that trains his gaze over the child and her family. Trevelyan carefully places her threats: there's the simmering unhappiness between the parents; clear signs of an affair; a very creepy neighbour; and the sea. Children are frequently left alone at the beach in this story. While the descriptions of diving in and out of the waves like dolphins are charming, nostalgic, you're left to worry about drowning. New Zealand has horrendous child drowning rates. Our losses make it very hard to read a local novel where the sea laps and waits for unsupervised children. You're left to shout into the pages for the adults to focus on their kids for once; to shout 'remember Charlotte?!' The mother character is one of the most intriguing figures in this novel where the adults are so absent they're almost abstract. She's having an affair (this is made obvious early on), and she's trying to write a book. At least, her child thinks that's what she's doing. Whatever it is she's scribbling, it lets her take her eye off the ball: helps her escape her family, escape parenting, her miserable marriage, her surroundings. Early on we learn that the mother usually demands they holiday in remote places. So her family finds it unusual that this summer she wants to go 'where there are people'. It becomes clear that the affair has a lot to do with this change of heart; but what I found most interesting was the depiction of the writer as selfish, self-isolating and self-destructive. I suspect that many women of a certain age will empathise strongly with her, particularly in contrast to the man she married. Through his child's eyes we get glimpses of a father who thinks it's not his job to chaperone the children on the beach; who is friendly enough but who is quietly fuming about his marital situation; who is racist; and who enacts a violence that will severely scar any of Trevelyan's readers who are writers. A Beautiful Family reminded me, to some degree, of the film Little Children (2006). Ostensibly a movie about an affair, it becomes, in dramatic fashion, a story about the selfishness of adults: the damage they can cause to the children they like to think are unknowing and unseeing. Trevelyan's story plays a similar trick in that its mystery centres on a missing girl, a creepy man, and the terror that experimenting teenagers can inflict upon themselves and others. But this is really a novel about parents: about what they don't see, what they distract themselves with (cricket, BBQs, projects, affairs, discontents) and what they miss. But what of that bold claim on the proof copy? A Beautiful Family is well written, it's immersive, and it is haunting. It's a novel that will prompt you to look back over your own childhood and assess the threats; the fast friendships; the collisions with siblings and strangers. A Beautiful Family has an atmosphere and an eye for place that means it has the potential to make a good Aotearoa noir film and one hopefully filmed on the Kāpiti Coast. I can see why Felicity Blunt was so confident about this novel: there is a universality to the way the child observes danger, weathers the storm of family, is plagued by what she remembers. There's a cinematic quality to the writing. But I hope you read more than one book in 2025. New Zealand is producing so much compelling fiction: more of it deserves to be read, discovered, and helped to go big. Hopefully Trevelyan's success will help kick that door open a little wider. A Beautiful Family by Jennifer Trevelyan ($37, Allen & Unwin) is available to purchase from Unity Books. The Spinoff Books section is proudly brought to you by Unity Books and Creative New Zealand. Visit Unity Books online today.
NZ Herald
06-06-2025
- Entertainment
- NZ Herald
Top 10 bestselling books: June 7
Catherine Chidgey's The Book of Guilt holds fast at the top of the NZ bestsellers' list. Photos / Supplied 1. (1) The Book of Guilt by Catherine Chidgey (Te Herenga Waka University Press) Heading all the local charts for the third week running is Catherine Chidgey's latest novel, which tells the mysterious, ominous story of three boys in an alternative 1970s Britain. It's a 'tense, 'There is the hint of submerged identity; of aspiration and prosperity, rubbing skins with disappointment and neglect; a preoccupation with what is authentic and what is fraudulent; the self and truth only dimly visible … Calling on the deeply rooted psychological power of the storytelling rule of three, the novel is divided into The Book of Dreams, The Book of Knowledge and The Book of Guilt. Three women, Mother Morning, Mother Afternoon and Mother Night, care for a set of 13-year-old triplets in an all-boy's orphanage. There are three main narrative perspectives: Vincent, one of the triplets; the Minister of Loneliness, a government minister in charge of national care institutions known as the Sycamore Homes; and Nancy, a young girl kept in seclusion by fastidious older parents. This attention to pattern also coolly embodies the quest for order and control, the troubling obsession at the core of the fictional investigation.'
Scroll.in
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
‘The Book of Guilt': What if Hitler were assassinated and World War II ended in compromise?
Catherine Chidgey's ninth novel, The Book of Guilt, has been hotly anticipated. Following the critical and commercial success of her last two novels, it was the subject of a bidding war between UK publishers. The Book of Guilt is also now the first of her books to be released in Australia at launch: a depressingly rare feat for a New Zealand author. Chidgey's career has been defined by a willingness to experiment and innovate with new genres, subjects and forms. Shifting from the New Zealand focus of her recent novels, The Book of Guilt is set in a version of 1979 Britain. It operates as a disturbing thriller that unfolds from three different perspectives. While its setting is something of a departure for Chidgey, the novel continues her interest in the legacy of Nazi Germany, which some of her previous works have examined. It also explores the questions of guilt, awareness and moral responsibility which have preoccupied Chidgey in her earlier novels, particularly with regard to characters who are trapped within, or even victimised by, exploitative systems. A government program for orphans Vincent and his triplet brothers William and Lawrence, at 13, are the last children living in Captain Scott House, an isolated countryside home in the Sycamore Scheme (a government program for the care of orphans). Their days are strictly regimented by their three guardians – Mother Morning, Mother Afternoon and Mother Night – who record both their dreams and transgressions, and administer medication to help them overcome a mysterious 'Bug'. The promise is that once they are deemed well enough, they will be relocated to the seaside resort town of Margate, where all the children before them have gone, to enjoy its rides and attractions. Until then, their contact with the outside world is limited. Elsewhere, 13-year-old Nancy is living in similarly constrained and isolated circumstances. She has been raised by doting parents within the walls of their suburban home, never permitted to step outside. As she starts to chafe at her confinement, she grows increasingly suspicious of her mother and father, and their strange obsession with the Sycamore children. Finally, the newly appointed Minister of Loneliness has been charged with dismantling the Sycamore Scheme. Its dwindling (unstated) benefits are no longer sufficient to justify the expense of running the houses, and she is left to determine what to do with the remaining children. She is desperately seeking a positive outcome – something that will mitigate the scandals from the program's past – while also strangely fearful at the prospect of having to visit Vincent and his brothers at Captain Scott House. An eerie alternative history In many ways, the world and period that Chidgey establishes seem familiar. A prime minister resembling Margaret Thatcher has just won the general election. The IRA is still active. Jim'll Fix It, a show with the premise of children writing to Jimmy Saville asking him to make a dream come true, is on TV. But there are also differences. In this world, the moon landing occurred in 1957, not 1969. The polio vaccine and mass-produced penicillin have been available for far longer than they have in our history. And, crucially, the Sycamore Scheme was established in 1944, following the successful assassination of Adolf Hitler. The Book of Guilt, then, can be understood as an alternative history novel. This genre typically explores the timelines and scenarios that might result from a historical event having a different outcome. Within this tradition, World War Two is a frequent subject of speculation. Chidgey's alternative history hinges on a more subtle difference. What if Major Axel von dem Bussche 's 1943 attempted suicide bombing of Hitler had succeeded? As a result, the Nazi leadership are unseated and an interim government negotiates a surrender to the Allied powers. Rather than Germany's total defeat and capitulation, the European war ends in compromise and 'difficult decisions'. We are not told exactly what Nazi crimes went unpunished because of this determination to secure 'peace at any price'. But one of the terms of the 'Gothenburg Treaty' that ended the war was that the results of the inhumane, often deadly medical research performed in the concentration camps by SS physician Josef Mengele and others should be shared with the Allies. It is clear from early in the novel that the Sycamore Scheme operates as a sinister continuation of these practices, though its exact nature – and the origins of Vincent and his brothers – are a slowly unravelling mystery. Literary thrillers and Nazi legacy As New Zealand literary critic Philip Matthews observes, the The Book of Guilt can be read as a meeting point between two strands in Chidgey's writing. It follows The Axeman's Carnival (2022) and Pet (2023) as the third in a string of tightly plotted literary thrillers.e It is also her third novel to consider the legacy of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust. Like The Wish Child (2016) and Remote Sympathy (2020), The Book of Guilt is preoccupied with the subject of complicity: how characters live within, accept and deflect their full awareness of systems that exploit, violently dehumanise and murder others. What subtle, internal trades and compromises are they prepared to make for their own comforts and security? Or even just to preserve their own self-image? These are always pertinent themes, and Chidgey's alternative history provides her with a new lens for exploring them. Her vision of slightly altered late-70s Britain, one that has become rapidly tawdry, bleak and cruel for the sake of a few limited advancements, is powerful. The novel also offers an intriguing commentary on 1979 itself as a tipping point in British history. The cold pragmatism of the new conservative government justified sacrificing the welfare of a considerable portion of the population for greater prosperity. Chidgey's scenario recalls Thatcher's positioning of herself as the ruthless, unflinching doctor capable of curing the ' British Disease '. In this regard, The Book of Guilt joins a small tradition of literary alternative histories, which use a skewed perspective on the period they examine to reflect contemporary anxieties and preoccupations. It brings to mind Philip Roth's The Plot Against America, which explores how a populist leader – elected at exactly the wrong time – can light a powder keg of racist resentment. And also Ian McEwan's Machines Like Me, where the continued work of mathematician and code-breaker Alan Turing on artificial intelligence gives rise to an alternative 1980s Britain. There, new forms of robotic consciousness are the subject of both fascination and uneasy suspicion. But, of course, the novel The Book of Guilt most closely recalls is Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me G o, which also features a remote country home for mysteriously parentless children, in an alternative Britain where medical history has taken a different, sinister path. Reading The Book of Guilt with an awareness of Never Let Me Go makes it almost impossible to not anticipate key revelations quite early on. However, Chidgey's approach to this scenario serves as an interesting counterpoint to Ishiguro's in some ways. In Never Let Me Go, the adolescent protagonists are prompted by their guardians to attempt to demonstrate their humanity to a largely indifferent world. It ends with their melancholic, fatalistic acceptance of their lot. The Book of Guilt, by contrast, follows Vincent's attempts to comprehend his place in a setting gradually revealed to be inexplicably hostile. As his suspicions of his 'mothers' mount, he slowly realises he and his brothers are being constantly tested for signs of 'brutish' behaviour, ethical lapses and hidden, subliminal urges. The reasons for this scrutiny speak to broader themes around nature and nurture explored in the novel, and the temptation and dangers of arbitrary, 'scientific' classifications and definitions of human life and value. The Book of Guilt is not derivative of Never Let Me Go, but a rewarding variation on a similar theme. Adolescence as liminal space The Book of Guilt is also the third of Chidgey's novels to focus on characters entering early adolescence, and interrogate their developing knowledge and moral responsibility – even within systems and circumstances arguably beyond their control. The Wish Child examines the perspective of children who come of age while indoctrinated in the poisonous ideologies of Nazi Germany. Pet follows the narrative of 12-year-old Justine, who falls under the thrall of a charismatic yet strangely malicious teacher, Ms Price, who both woos and exploits her. Like Chidgey's other adolescent protagonists, Vincent is not positioned as a perfect victim. While thoughtful and sympathetic, he is also complicit in various acts of cruelty. He ultimately makes a fraught, highly compromised 'ethical' choice at the novel's denouement, which will haunt him, and likely the reader as well. In The Book of Guilt, Chidgey continues to explore early adolescence as a liminal stage of life, where levels of awareness and accountability are often frustratingly (and fascinatingly) unclear. Though Chidgey's handling of her younger characters remains astute, I was most taken with the Minister of Loneliness in this novel (though it did take me a moment to remember this is now an actual position in the UK government). Her narrative delivers some much-needed humour at various points, particularly in her interactions with the implacable, Thatcher-like prime minister. Tangled and morally complex While The Minister of Loneliness occupies a more remote and peripheral role in the novel than Vincent and Nancy, her weary adult perspective provides a necessary point of contrast. Her initial attempts to deny the horrors that have landed at her door are immediately, damningly, relatable. As the novel develops, her reluctance and inertia give way to rushed, desperate decisions and ruinous consequences. She feels very familiar. Very human. But what at first seems like a simple satire of an ineffectual bureaucrat proves surprising. The Minister is not ultimately overwhelmed by either the history she is forced to confront, nor by her own failings. She recognises, in the end, the weight of her responsibilities, even when she is given leeway to ignore or deflect them. In The Minister of Loneliness, Chidgey delivers an acutely realised portrait of a faintly good person who resolves, miraculously, to do a little better. Hers is arguably not the most heroic trajectory in this dark, tangled and compelling novel – but it feels like the closest it comes to a moment of moral triumph. Julian Novitz, Senior Lecturer, Writing, Department of Media and Communication, Swinburne University of Technology.
